


say them very quietly

by towine (snippetcee)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snippetcee/pseuds/towine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa watches the way they touch, the way they don’t touch, how one of them parts their lips to say something only to change their mind and say nothing at all, nothing at all. But when they look at each other, Mikasa can hear the words clear as day, echoing between them, unsaid but obvious—they have always been obvious to Mikasa.</p><p>She is beginning to feel frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say them very quietly

**Author's Note:**

> for a [prompt](http://towine.tumblr.com/post/65926478867/can-i-request-a-armin-eren-one-told-from-mikasas) on tumblr, finished just in time for armin's birthday
> 
> thanks for reading!

  
He’s quiet. Soft. Bright. He is all these things, Mikasa thinks, when Eren tugs her below the shade of a tree where a boy waits, his hair yellow and his eyes the clearest blue she has ever seen. His name is Armin, Eren explains, and he’s my friend. And now he’s your friend, too.  
  
 _Quiet and soft and bright_. Mikasa nods politely at Armin behind the red curtain of Eren’s scarf—her scarf—and takes a seat to his left.  
  
Armin nervously cracks open the book in his lap, perhaps unused to being this close to anyone besides Eren, but his voice loses its tremor once he begins to read, voice clear and bell-like, and Mikasa leans closer, wanting to catch every word.  
  
She begins to consider if she is leaning too close when she looks up and sees Eren, his head resting on Armin’s shoulder, pointing a finger at a page and asking questions in a low, curious voice. Armin answers, smiling, and he even tilts the book in her direction to let her have a better look.  
  
Mikasa wonders how Eren—loud, brash, brave Eren—managed to find a friend like Armin. She wonders how they fit.  
  
When Armin turns to a page about something called “the ocean” and Eren’s eyes light up, Mikasa thinks she understands.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Eren broke a finger, once, when an alleyway scuffle resulted in his hand being ground into the dirt below the boot of one of Armin’s tormentors.  
  
Mikasa doesn’t remember Eren’s piercing cry of pain. She doesn’t wish to. All she remembers is fisting that boy’s shirt and hauling him to the ground with all her strength. She remembers the thud of his body, the angry puffs of dust he sent flying into the air when he landed. She remembers his fear.  
  
She tries not to remember her own fear.  
  
Eren had bitten through his lip trying not to sob loudly, though tears streamed from his eyes in thick rivulets. Armin cried openly.  
  
He huddled close and pressed his wet face to Eren’s, their tears intermingling. It was then Eren opened his mouth and let out his first, heavy sob.  
  
Mikasa left to get Dr. Yeager. She knew Armin would take care of Eren while she was gone.  
  
Now, as they climb hills and wade through shallow pools and run between meadows of flowers, Eren waves his bandaged hand about like his little finger _isn’t_ wrapped in a splint.  
  
Mikasa glances at Armin, who nervously watches Eren try to climb a tree with one hand. She is glad she isn’t the only one tasked with worrying over such a reckless, reckless boy.  
  
She runs forward to help Eren before he falls and breaks another finger.  
  
  
-  
  
  
On her way back home from the market, Mikasa finds a yellow flower growing on the side of the road—tiny, delicate, just at the edge of the shadows and barely clinging to the sunlight.  
  
She plucks it from the ground and carries it home with her.  
  
“What’s that?” Eren asks when she returns and gives the apples she purchased to Carla.  
  
“A flower,” she says simply. She places it in the vase at the center of the table, already full of bigger flowers with longer, thicker stems and wide petals.  
  
“Well _duh_ , I know _that_ , but why did you take it? It’s so small.” Eren peers at the little yellow flower, dwarfed by the ones surrounding it.  
  
Mikasa wants to shrug, wants to say she didn’t really have a reason. But if she’s honest with herself, honest with Eren—and she is always honest with Eren—the flower reminds her of someone.  
  
She tells him this. Eren sits at the table, rests his chin on his folded arms, and curiously watches the little flower for a long time.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Years later, the trainees are running laps around the track, again and again and again. Mikasa finds herself almost a full lap ahead of Eren, having surpassed him on the track until she’s jogging just behind him.  
  
She sees him jerk to the side, quickly, jarringly, and it confuses her until she notices the flower growing on the edge of the track, small and yellow, dainty, like the one she plucked so long ago.  
  
She quickly moves to also avoid crushing it beneath her foot.  
  
  
-  
  
  
On the anniversary of Carla’s death, Eren is quiet.  
  
He hardly speaks to her, eats his breakfast in silence, and doesn’t even fall into an argument with Jean during training.  
  
Mikasa worries. She wonders if there is anything she should say—anything she _could_ say—to comfort him. She runs her fingers over the soft fabric of her scarf: a promise, a memory.  
  
She looks to Eren, his green eyes distant, and touches his shoulder with a hesitant hand.  
  
Eren turns to her, and maybe it’s the sunlight, maybe it’s the glint of gold in his irises when he moves, but he is, for a moment, with her. He knows she understands.  
  
Mikasa has endured the loss of two mothers. She will not let Eren go through this alone.  
  
Beneath the shade of a tree, they sit together in silence—not knowing exactly what to say, but taking the fragile moment of acceptance for what it is.  
  
It's then that Armin finds them, book in hand, breathless like he’s been searching for them.  
  
“Hey,” he greets, voice soft. He smiles.  
  
Mikasa looks at him, and she tries to smile back. She does. Eren still keeps his gaze somewhere far away.  
  
Armin isn’t discouraged, just takes a seat on the grass in front of them and eagerly runs a hand over the cover of his book.  
  
“Look what I found in the library,” he says. “See, this book—this one’s about _stars_. And some stars, they make shapes when you connect them together, and they’re called constellations.”  
  
He opens the book between his hands, flipping to a page colored black like the night sky. On it are dots—stars—linked together with white lines, shapes printed on a dark canvas.  
  
“We can see some tonight,” Armin tells them. His blue eyes are gentle. “Some constellations even have stories behind them. I mean, they’re just myths, legends, but I think you’d like them.”  
  
Something within Mikasa loosens. Her heart begins to feel a little lighter, and she is grateful, suddenly, for him.  
  
Except, no. Not suddenly. She has always been grateful to Armin. For so many things.  
  
She looks at Eren again, and his eyes are on the stars. Armin touches Eren’s hand, his fingers light and delicate, and the colors of Eren’s eyes come home again.  
  
This time, the smile comes easily to Mikasa’s lips.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Mikasa watches the way they touch, the way they don’t touch, how one of them parts their lips to say something only to change their mind and say nothing at all, nothing at all. But when they look at each other, Mikasa can hear the words clear as day, echoing between them, unsaid but obvious—they have always been obvious to Mikasa.  
  
She is beginning to feel frustrated.  
  
  
-  
  
  
“It’s his birthday tomorrow,” Mikasa tells him, and Eren makes a face.  
  
“I know,” he says, a little petulantly, because of course he remembers. _Of course_.  
  
Eren rakes a hand through his hair, clumps of it standing up messily, and Mikasa has long since learned to ignore the urge to pat them down, especially after the first time she did it and Eren complained and flushed red with embarrassment.  
  
His expression is frustrated, mouth tense, like he wants to ask something but is afraid of sounding stupid.  
  
“I’m sure Armin doesn’t want anything in particular,” she says, because she doesn’t have to hear the words from Eren’s mouth to know. “Just your presence, I think, would be enough.”  
  
Eren blushes, then, looking at her like he can’t believe she said that. But he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to correct her or tell her, in any way, that she has it wrong. He is only surprised at how easily she can say it, how simple she makes it sound. Mikasa was never the type to make the truth any more complicated than it really is.  
  
“Still—” Eren says, and Mikasa nearly sighs.  
  
“Flowers,” she suggests. “He’d like flowers.”  
  
Eren relaxes, cheeks still red, and Mikasa gives in and smoothes the hair on his head. He predictably sputters and swats her hand away, and Mikasa smiles secretly to herself behind her scarf.  
  
  
-  
  
  
The next morning, they’re already waiting for her below the tree they always meet at before breakfast.  
  
At this angle, they don’t see her just yet, but she can see them. She sees their fingers laced together, sees Eren bring Armin’s hand up to his mouth and kiss the bones of his knuckles. She can hear Armin laugh.  
  
They finally notice her as she approaches, and Armin greets her happily. Happy. They’re happy.  
  
Mikasa sees the yellow flower tucked behind Armin’s ear, and she glances at Eren. He looks away, embarrassed, but his fingers do not leave Armin’s.  
  
“Happy birthday,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to Armin’s forehead. He smiles at her.  
  
As they walk to the mess hall together, Mikasa—pleased—thinks to herself: _Finally_.


End file.
